


Bunny Plots - In Hiatus

by veronicasalanderblack



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Bunny Plots, Drabbles, In Hiatus, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8050054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronicasalanderblack/pseuds/veronicasalanderblack
Summary: Apparently, my sweet computer decided to shut down. I had to take her to the store for a nice vacation, and unfortunately she won't return my drafts in the next few weeks.Therefore, I'll start this project instead of updating my old fics.I am terribly sorry for this inconvenience. I hope that you will forgive me, and let's hope that my baby will come back soon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lazysheep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazysheep/gifts).



> AU - Merman!Harry, Human!Tom  
> Happy birthday my Dark Lady - Lady Sheep. Thank you for being such perfect guide to the path of our beloved fandom~  
> Also, I dedicate this project to my dearest muses - Lady Jellyfish and Lady Octopus. Thank you for staying with me through this madness, I love you girls very much~

AU-Merman! Harry, Human! Tom   
They share a kiss in front of the crew, right on deck. Harry is in his own form, tail swinging happily on the water line. His fins shine under the twilight sunlight, black turns violet, then bleed crimson with a delightful dash of ocean blue. His hair splashes out, water drops falling from Harry’s nape to his pale shoulder like a pearl veil for the bride. His eyes are the vivid green of moors, remind everyone of their homes hidden in deep forests and shallow valleys.  
Tom smiles, eyes crinkle tenderly. The wind has swept his hair to the right, exposes the dark mole on Tom’s left eyebrow. Harry lifts up a claw, gently caress the mark.   
They kiss again in the cheering of people on the ship. Flags are raised, candles are lit. The canon goes off, boom-boom-boom with fireworks shooting from the deck, lighting up the violet sky with golden rain. The twinkle sparks finally fall, glittering on Harry’s black hair and Tom’s forehead, their hands lace together. Forever.  
“And now for the final!”  
“The final!!”  
The crew shouts, clapping and stomping their feet. Harry takes a look around, bewildered and happier than ever. He can’t wait to see what next, hopefully gifts from the land world.  
Two sailors – Crabbe and Goyle it seems – bring out a heavy chest. Tom’s warm fingers catch Harry’s chin in a tight grip, pulling the merman up for yet another kiss. Their tongues meet, and for a second Harry’s mind goes blank, deaf to the clicking sound of metal. Tom bites down on Harry’s lips, cutting the flesh with his canines. Blood spurts out from the wound, and when Harry pulls back, eyes wide, he hears a sharp “click”.  
Then it burns. Harry’s world rotates upside down as he stumbles back into the water, head diving in the old world that he was born into, lost and in pain. He clutches the edge with his claws, clawing at the smooth crystal surface, crying out as his tail pierced out, tearing Harry’s heart with such robust, vicious force that freeze his body in cold, moving water.  
He looks down, blood keeps falling from his mouth into the water, tainting the clear liquid with swirling red. There, right on his tail and wrists, are golden chains dragging him under the water. And it burns.  
Harry screams, thrashing against the tight chains around his slender tail. His green eyes are blown wide, the pupils expand, swallow the dash of vibrant colour into their bottomless pitch black.  
Gold burns his fins – harsher and more unforgiving than his beloved sunset. The black tail withers, catching fire from the chains, scorching silver marks and making the water boil, softly at first, then it bursts out, hissing and wailing madly.  
Tears gather at the corner of Harry’s eyes as he cries his throat out, the vocal cord gives up its sweet songs. Drops of tear harden into pearls, round and extremely rare, for a mere never shed a tear for creatures aside its kin, then slowly roll off Harry’s wet chin into the salt water, gradually filling the crystal coffin with such beauty, such precious gifts from the sea. An ear-piercing sound escapes the creature’s throat, and water rises up, hungry and vigorous.   
Tom let his hands go, and the crystal lid slams back down, locking Harry inside the coffin. The crew hurries themselves back, barely stay away from the blackened water. Harry hit his hands on the wall, eyes begging and hatred-filled, his tail forever bares the burnt mark of gold chains.  
“Let me go!”, he screams, writhing and slamming at the cage. More pearls escape from the corner of his green eyes, lying at the bottom in front of hundred eyes of the discourteous sailors.   
“Pearl, pearl, pearl”, they chant, laughing and yowling with cruelty at the sight of the poor creature. Their captain rises from his knees, clasping the chest with a lazy wave of hand. He touches the coffin one last time, eyes not leaving the painful, mesmerizing sight of his betrothed crying in his own prison.   
Such divine beauty, and now it is all his.  
“With these rings”, Tom smiles, all teeth, “I will wed you.”


	2. AU - Modern World (Single Father!Tom, Jewelry Maker!Harry)

AU – Modern World. Daddy!Tom, Jewelry Maker!Harry.

 

Tom is tired. Well, "burning up" is a more fitting description. Avada has been dragging him from shop to shop to find her a perfect gift, and apparently, she claims not to stop the journey in this ridiculous huge mall until there is something wonderful enough to celebrate her birthday. Also, a gift to mark 2 years since Tom found her in that horrendous place.

But that story is for another time. Right now, his daughter hasn’t broken a sweat, but Tom’s legs are burning up and almost fall out of his calve. Silently wishing for a boring bench to glue his ass on, Tom continues running after Avada’s little green dress, a delight surprise from his co-worker Lucius, and his coat flaring out like huge black wings.

“Slow down, Avie. Daddy’s old.”, he calls out, panting. Avada Riddle just smiles, her dark eyes soften at the sight of her father’s dissolved figure.

 

They finally take a break near the entrance, the little girl’s legs swinging back and forth. The mall is quite full, it’s Halloween after all. Gory and freaky decoration shops with equally freaky human in disguises walking around like a mad fair.

Tom sighs, lifting Avada on his legs. His daughter leans back so slightly, absorbing the warmth inside Tom’s coat with the same grace of a princess. The bench is hidden well behind fake gargoyles statues of a clothing shop, leaving the couple in dimly light. Avada’s hair tickles on Tom’s chin, but he doesn’t pay that any attention, all too exhausted to even fix his tie properly. If he was a normal dad, Tom would take Avada home and drown himself in the Jacuzzi bathtub already.

“You don’t need to do this, father.”, she says after a long while, playing with Tom’s hands. Sometimes, Avada scares Tom with her mature understanding, reminds him of what they had both endured in the family manor when they were young. Tom does try his best to make it up for his daughter, just like what he had wished for years and years ago.

“I know”, he kisses on Avada’s hair, “But I had made a promise. It’s your birthday after all.”

He is a Riddle. And Riddles keep their promises well.

“You’re not well.”

Tom agrees. “I’m not. But that doesn’t mean we are done here.”

A moment passes. Then Avada picks up Tom’s ring finger, twirling her own at the knuckles.

“Mom won’t call me, will she?”

However, the Riddles are not always, note: not always, promise keepers. There are also perfectionists and psychopaths on the way, with maybe a little bit of artists somewhere in 17th century.

“Maybe.”, the man answers honestly.

 

So they continue to venture down the hall, hands twining. Then Avada tucks Tom’s hand to the left, and they disappear from the maddening crowd into a tiny shop between Zara and Adidas. The air conditioner blows on Tom’s hair, making it fluff up to peaks like a cartoon character.

It is an accessories shop, so the walls full to the brim of necklaces, rings and headbands say. Avada’s pony tail has gone behind the shelves, so Tom hurries to collapse on a comfy chair (it is a very nice green chair with two silver pillows).

There isn’t anyone else in the shop, aside from the Riddles and a lanky kid at the counter. So Tom eases his back on the pillow, breathing through his lips as the joints cracking even so slightly. The lighting is hazy and warm, so Tom lays his head on the wall, carefully not to touch the crystal trays, and dozes off to the soft music playing in the background.

He wakes up abruptly at the light tap on shoulder, hands thrust forward and fist tightly on the offender’s shirt collar. The other sucks in a sudden breath, standing still and so closes to straddle Tom’s thighs. The older man blinks, jerks his hands back and mutters out, apologetically.

“Sorry.”

The kid smiles (really, how can he be so cool about that? Most people would have freak out now.), and Tom’s eyes go up to meet vibrant green, beautiful like the flames in the graveyard that he had visited years ago. They are glinting with sympathy, and a flash of understanding that chokes Tom silently. He is short, with messy black hair tied back in a low pony tail with a green ribbon. The uniform hang on his form like a coat hanger, sleeves too long rolled up and pinned with red paper clips. His jeans are tight, showing lean muscles on legs that run for miles. The nametag reads “Harry.P”, and the kid’s hands reach forward to brush Tom’s hair back, lifting his face up gently.

“Are you alright, sir?”

“Yeah”, Tom nods, taking a few deep breaths. “Thank you, Mr...”

“Harry”, the kid smiles, eyes crinkle. “My name is Harry, sir.”

“Thank you, Harry.”, Tom replies, his shoulders sag in relief.

His hands are so soft, and smell like orange. Tom’s headache subdues gradually as he sighs, barely restrains from nuzzling like cat. Avada peaks from behind the kid, warily staring at her father’s posture.

“Father?”

“I’m fine, Avie.”, Tom coughs, drops his eyes as the kid takes a few steps back. His bones seem to dissolve into liquid form, as he blearily pulls his daughter near. “Finish?”

Instead of answering, Avada’s face lit up as she opens her palms, showing Tom a handful of rings, a silver bracelet and a small tiara with tiny blue stones elegantly carved on smooth surface. Tom hold a ring up, examines the round curves as his daughter carefully placing her treasures on the table next to them. The kid takes a sit, patiently watching Tom struggles out of his sleep haze, green eyes twinkling merrily. Tom glances at Harry.P from the corner of his eyes, feeling flushed and embarrassed. He has never sleep carelessly in a shop like this before, tired or not. Worse, the gorgeous nymph right there just coddles him like Merope – he’s a 45 years old man for heaven’s sake.

“Father, do you hear me?”. The “We are almost done now” is left unsaid, much to Tom’s relief.

“Yes, Avada?”

“Can I buy them all?”

Tom replies with a simple “no”. The kid’s eyebrows furrow as he squirms on his chair, almost ready to prevent a baby fuss. Tom admits that he is evil, but the sight of cute boys being concerned is just too adorable to miss.

Besides, Avada isn’t like other spoiled kids (she is spoiled, yes, Tom does know his parenting is shit anyway). The girl only straightens her back, clasping her tiny hands together in a quiet clap, eyes staring intensively at her father.

“How ‘bout a deal, father? I promise to eat broccoli in dinner.”

“Lunch, too. No more than 5 things. And none of that hideous soul music after 6.”

“I’ll eat broccoli as snacks all day. My music taste is better than yours!”

“Careful, child.”, Tom chides, smiling almost maliciously, but fails at the end. Avada huffs out an annoying sigh, biting on her rosy lips.

“No music after 7. And I only take the tiara and 3 rings”

“Deal.”

They glare at each other, then shake hands like it’s proper business. Avada scoops her chosen jewelries up, returns the rest to the kid’s waiting hand. She climbs off her father’s lap, rushing toward the counter while Tom slows down his steps, walking side by side with Harry, awkwardly stumbling a few steps.

 

“Your daughter is very sweet.”, the kid comments. Tom snorts. Avada is a thunder storm in training – she already has her classmates in her little fingers and some of the teachers already. “Sweet” isn’t what Tom expects to hear. Still, she is intelligent, having the Riddle’s blood inside her veins. Her wit is a replica to Tom’s. and they both challenge each other in every field since the day she knew her first word.

“She is.”, Harry – really, when did Tom switch back and forth from “kid” to “Harry”? – insists. The older man smiles absentmindedly, feeling out of character than ever. Harry’s eyes are lovely, and his fondness to children scores higher than his sex appeal.

“I know”, Tom croaks out, “She

“Father?”

Avada’s voice shoots through the intimate bubble of eye-locking, effectively snaps them out of their silence. Tom clears his throat, watching Harry’s eyelashes fluttering like butterfly’s wings.

“Anyway,”, the green-eyed male says, bouncing on his sneakers, “I’m glad that your daughter likes those. Most people just buy a friendship bracelet, not a tiara.”

“Avada has a flamboyant fashion style”, Tom replies, staring at Harry’s fingers. They haven’t stop shaking since they talked, and Tom breaths out at the sight of no rings on ring fingers. “She won’t choose what isn’t the best for her.”

Harry’s cheeks burn red. Huh, interesting?

“T..Thank you.” he splutters, scratching the back of his neck. Harry swings his legs across the counter effortlessly, hurries to pack and print the receipt while Avada put on her tiara, the sapphires adorn her flushed face with feathery hue of blue. Tom touches her black locks distractingly, smothering out the stray hair from her forehead. His temple is pounding like a feast of drums, slashing with the familiar dizziness of a coming hangover.

“Cash or card?”

Tom fumbles with his wallet, cursing quietly under his breath. He passes his credit card to Harry. There is something like magma in his blazing eyes that leaves Tom breathless and intrigued. Their hands touch – Harry’s cool and rough with callous while the other’s feverish and smooth. Great, now he is waxing poem for a man he just met. Sweat is pouring onto his eyebrows while Tom clutching on the counter, breathing heavily.

Tom watches, feeling a little bit light headed. Avada is holding onto his coat, lips worried between her teeth. Her father is strange today, tired or not.

So she blurts out, completely aware of Tom’s quivering knees. “Can you please call a cab for us, sir?”

Then Tom collapses, head dives backward and only misses the bench by the force of Harry and Avada’s grip on his arms.

 

He wakes up later in his house, with a small ring on the left hand. Harry murmurs something about Avada’s insistence, and a private discount for her birthday gift.

"He is cute.", his daughter says after dinner, when Harry has gone home. Tom swallows his pill, and sends her off to bed.


End file.
